


Unexpected Christmas Trees (Attack of the decorations)

by okeydokey (LilMissNerdfighter)



Series: Merry Christmas from 221B [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilMissNerdfighter/pseuds/okeydokey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamish and John arrive home one day with a tree and 221B very quickly becomes no place for Scrooges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Christmas Trees (Attack of the decorations)

‘Father! We’ve got a Christmas tree and we’re going to decorate it and-‘ beamed Hamish, hugging Sherlock around the legs. He was wearing a scarf made of tinsel and his dark hair was sprinkled with glitter. Sherlock smirked at his son- he was possibly the first Holmes in the history of Holmeses to be excited about Christmas. John had just picked up Hamish from school, and somehow in the short taxi ride between collecting Hamish and returning home, Hamish had talked John into buying a Christmas tree. Or at least, that was how it appeared- Sherlock had a suspicion that John had already intended to buy a tree and had just needed the slightest indication that Hamish wouldn’t reject the idea before purchasing it.

‘Hey, love. Anything interesting happen since I left?’ John kissed Sherlock lightly, dragging a tree behind him. Sherlock grabbed the other end of it and helped him lie it on the lounge floor. It was huge-Sherlock doubted it would actually fit anywhere without causing mayhem. Satisfied that everyone (and the tree) was home safely, John starting rummaging through the cupboards, looking for God knows what.

‘You were only gone for twenty minutes.’ Sherlock pointed out, watching John carefully move the chemicals threatening to spill over the kitchen floor away from the edge of the table.

‘Still. Did anything happen?’ Hamish had now joined in the hunt for the elusive mystery object (objects?), and was taking great joy in tearing the cupboards almost to pieces. It seemed (for once) everyone knew what was going on, other than Sherlock.

‘Lestrade has informed me that there is a case of some… interest. I’m going to the crime scene soon- it’ll probably be something straight forward. It doesn’t take much to confuse those idiots.’

‘Father, it’s not nice to call people idiots.’ Hamish piped up from the corner, where he seemed to have found what he was looking for. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, catching John’s eye and seeing that he was having trouble stifling giggles.

‘But they are!’ protested Sherlock, draining a fairly cold cup of coffee and grabbing his phone from in between the piles of case notes.

‘It doesn’t matter, they can’t help it! How would you feel if somebody called you an idiot?’ Unfortunately, the scolding lost its effect- not because it was coming from a five year old- but because the five year old in question was currently buried in a pile of coloured card and glitter.

‘Well, they’d be wrong.’ Sherlock retorted, escaping out of the door with a muffled ‘goodbye’ before his son could tell him off even more.

‘Right then, Hamish. We’ve got some work to do before your silly father gets home,’ laughed John, pulling him out from the mound. Hamish flashed his dad a huge smile before scooping up an armful of the paper and following John into the lounge.

**

When Sherlock came home again several hours later (the case had been harder than it had first appeared, and Anderson hadn’t helped), he was surprised to find the flat almost completely dark. There was a small amount of light radiating from the corner by his chair (a very odd shaped table lamp, he supposed), but otherwise it was pitch black.

Finally accepting that there was no way he could do his experiments in that level of light, Sherlock flicked the main light on. The sight that greeted him almost knocked the breath out of him- 221B had been attacked!

Coloured paper streamers and glittering paper chains hung from the ceiling, brushing his head and tangling themselves in his hair as he walked. Tinsel adorned the mantelpiece, the windowsills and every other flat space. Lanterns hung (unlit) in the windows, fairly lights were stuck to the walls and festive cushions (in red and green and every other Christmas pattern imaginable) had replaced the usual ones on the chairs. And finally, in the corner was the tree.

Not only was it decked in lights and tinsel in almost every colour ever invented, there were multi-coloured, shiny baubles hanging from each branch. There was an angel on top of the tree, smiling cheerily down at the Christmassy chaos.  The entire room looked like someone had raided the Christmas shop, not leaving a single thing behind. Sherlock hated to admit it, but it worked. The room was filled with cheer and Sherlock had a feeling that the rest of the flat would be decorated in exactly the same way. Checking that no-one else was around to see him grin, he jumped experimentally, feeling some odd sense of joy overwhelm him. Settling into his chair to work, surrounded by the decorations was somehow more amusing, and the more he looked, the more he liked it.

There was writing on the streamers (song lyrics), the baubles had evidently belonged to John or Mrs Hudson before they had inundated 221B. Some were handmade (a star with Hamish Watson-Holmes, aged 5, written on it in gold ink), and some were bought, hanging together on the branches. Mrs Hudson had seemingly knitted the cushions (they had their names on it), making everything feel cosier. Even the angel on top was wearing a woolly jumper and a blue scarf (one of Hamish’s more recent creations, then).

 Sure, the room was disorganised and chaotic, but he wouldn’t have had it any other way.


End file.
